


like blood, like love

by Anonymous



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Betrayal, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-21 17:20:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12462360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Perhaps some would call him a traitor, but he had always been loyal.





	like blood, like love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nabielka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nabielka/gifts).



The winds sunk fast from the cliffs of Ios, low and mournful in their wailing song. 

“Even the seas would rise for you,” Kastor muttered, lips twisting into a wry smile. The rushing air swallowed the syllables of his soliloquy, so that he found the courage to continue: “I am not a traitor.” 

The word tasted strange in his mouth. Trai-tor. He hadn’t thought about that, not about himself: he loved his country. And he was not careless, nor he did not kill indiscriminately, though he was no stranger to blood. He was a prince, after all. Princes fought their kings’ battles.

The blood that was shed today was from no stranger to him. Warm and metallic-sweet, it had gushed from a child’s small body onto his hands. Kastor had looked up woodenly when he first felt his blade pierce skin, although he wondered why he did so at all. What did he expect to see? What did he want to see? He met brown eyes that were wide from shock, not pain. 

The pain, he knew, would come later. 

And incongruously, he had recalled the day that Damianos was born, with the bright clarity of a slow-moving night terror. In a few years he knew that Damianos would surpass Kastor himself. But Damianos had bled today.

And in that moment, Kastor had wanted— Kastor had wondered—

It would have been treason. Kastor loved this country.

So he swallowed lightly and turned away from the sea, away from the howling harbinger of change rushing through the kingdom. He retreated into the palace and headed towards Damianos’ rooms, shrouding himself in the kind smile of the faithful brother. 

… 

Those twilight days descended with the tumble of gold chain on dyed silk: swift and soundless, the pendant had gleamed with the promise of morning light. 

“We would be honoured if you would accept this token of our friendship.” Councillor Guion had smiled as he let the metal trickle over his pale fingers. It was ostentatious and intricate in the typical Veretian style. The inlaid jewel shone dully, the colour of drying blood, of wine.

Kastor did not reach out. “Please do not misunderstand me,” he said. “I simply share your Regent’s belief that a country should be ruled by those of merit.” 

“Of course.” Guion’s expression did not falter.

“The king is the country’s pinnacle and slave.” Kastor glanced around the palace gardens; it was quiet and isolated at this early hour. “We are both aware that those of strong claim to the throne may… lack the capacity necessary, shall we say, to lead a country effectively.”

Guion frowned in commiseration. “It is certainly a concern that we share, over the border.”

“In truth, it is no less than a duty, is it not?” Kastor continued, the words tumbling out of his mouth now that he finally let himself speak freely. “For am I to stand back and watch my beloved Akielos crumble in my father’s iron fist? No, it is not the answer to rule by the sword. We must bring about the dawn of a new era, and for that I am glad to have the support of Vere.”

Guion’s smile returned now, a little shrewd, a little sharp; though they were good allies strategically, the Veretians had always been a little unsettling. 

“The Regent certainly looks forward to an official alliance with Akielos,” Guion said. He moved to fold the jewellery back into its cloth. “He would, however, like to make a request concerning the fate of your brother—”

...

The plot fell into place as surely as the sinking of a blade into the gut. 

Years of fighting his father’s wars had deadened him to the crawling perfume of spilled blood.

…

After the memorial service, Kastor had watched the Kyros of Delpha walk into the training arena and sink onto a bench. His broad shoulders were weighted by grief.

Kastor followed him, although he could not have explained why.

Nikandros stiffened as Kastor took a seat by his side, but he remained silent after a murmured ‘Exalted’. Kastor stared at the sawdust and remembered it stained with blood.

He broke the silence with this: “I still remember teaching Damianos how to fight with a sword.” The fresh blood on his hands, so viscous and red, and he had not known whether the pounding of his heart was exhilaration or horror. “Even when he was a boy, Damianos had always wanted to be treated like a man.”

Nikandros paused. Then, he let out a deep sigh. “Yes, that sounds like Damen.” He said no more.

Kastor frowned.

After a while, Nikandros said, “There have already been stirrings of unrest in Sicyon, Exalted.”

Kastor let out a slow breath. “I have also had heralds tell me the same about Dice and Aegina. Unrest is to be expected when a country is forged by force, after all.”

Nikandros looked at him and opened his mouth, as though to say something. When he finally looked away, Kastor stood up abruptly.

“I—” he said, and wondered how to express his grief. 

He loved his father. He loved his brother. Perhaps some would call him disloyal, but he made the greatest sacrifice in the name of loyalty: he gave up his family for his country. 

Nikandros looked concerned. “Are you alright, Exalted?”

“I think I had better retire for the day,” Kastor said.

...

The Veretian brat of a prince stumbles in the echo of a brother past. Kastor drives his sword into the opening, into victory. He does not register, at first, when sunlight glances off from a sudden thrust of polished metal.

But then Prince Laurent’s blade meets Kastor’s, forcing it up, and up, and away.


End file.
